The weekend is looming and I have some trepidation on what it will bring. I keep telling people about how much I love “The Weepies” I recently recruited N.M into my pleasant addiction. The thing about this band is that they are an all temperament, all encompassing feel good music. They have songs for every occasion. They have recently eclipsed my maniacal ebullience for Robert Kelly’s music. Not easy to do.
As with most indie bands this group have the ability to combine words and melody into therapy. I actually believe that they could not write a bad song even if they were paid to do so. They have the ability to lift my spirits in a way that very little can do of late. I think that the melancholic nature of getting older and watching other people live their dreams as yours wither and die by the wayside is one of the curses of this life.
Well maybe that is a little too much. Seeing your dreams turn ordinary is the thing that is truly taxing. Growing up I had, like every starry eyed teenager, grand plans for my life. Some have come true, others have faded and others just seem silly now. But what are we without dreams? I once dreamt that I would use song titles to write a story so here goes.
It seems in the words of “The Weepies” that I am going through the “same changes” and as the “World spins madly on” I think to myself “Nobody knows me at All”.
But there are still people who give me “Happiness” and you can’t steal that because they make me feel like “Somebody Loved”. Even as my girl tells me to “say I am you” I insist that I want her to “Be my thrill” to “Be my honey pie”. Sweetheart “when you go away” like you did to Uganda recently every “Red red rose” I see reminds me that like the “Hummingbird” “I was made for sunny days” and there is “Not a lullaby” that will soothe me to sleep faster than your heartbeat next to mine.
So I “Add my effort” though you are not “Hard to please” and “Hope tomorrow” you will “Empty your hands” and your soul and everything that is you to me. All this my dearest you can “Take it from me “ I “Gotta have you” even on a “Slow Pony Home “ those “Riga girls “ stand no chance. Not even a “Suicide blonde” holds a candle to you neither does a subject in a “Painting by Chagall” for that matter; you are comparable only to “Stars”.
The cynic in me will always remind me that “Love doesn’t last too long” and whispers “This is not your year” but in this “Citywide Rodeo” there can only be one cowboy riding off into the sunset. “I can’t go back now” not to my “Hideaway” and thought there are things I “Wish I could forget” this “Little bird” is not flying off to “Antarctica” any time soon . If anything this “Old Coyote” is “Lighting candles” to regal you with stories of “How You Survived the war” and lived to bask in “All this beauty”. I am “Not dead yet” what keeps me alive is you and “All good things”
I just want to live a “simple Life” and it doesn’t have to be “Vegas Baby” and as long as I have you “Dating a porn star” is off the books not even “Jolene”. ”All that I want” is to “Keep it there” next to me and you.